


Private lessons

by floatingaway4



Series: Private Lessons [1]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26425054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingaway4/pseuds/floatingaway4
Summary: Cara steps out into the brisk Brooklyn fall air in front of a gorgeous townhouse, the kind she’s seen on those television shows about expensive real estate and the agents who sell it. No wonder they could afford to pay double what she usually charges for private lessons. One of the Real Housewives, maybe, she decides.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Series: Private Lessons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955788
Comments: 49
Kudos: 229





	Private lessons

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think this story is for everybody, and that's okay. I enjoyed writing it. And I feel like stories find their people :-)

This is ridiculous, Cara thinks, as she reads page 15 of 2,000. Or maybe it’s just 20, but it seems like more. She knows she shouldn't be skimming something like this, but honestly, unless it says she’s selling them her first born child, she’s going to sign it. She needs the money. 

She’d been picked up by a town car and briefly wondered if she was being kidnapped or sold into a human slavery ring. A man sitting in the back seat with her introduced himself as Jackson, the man who’d hired her over the phone on behalf of her new clients. 

Jackson takes the papers from her and flips through them with the professional air of someone who does this all the time. God, who are these people that they have to do this so often? She’s had celebrity clients before--this is New York City--but no one she got really excited about. And no one with this much paperwork up front. She knows they did a background check on her too, which is fine. She has nothing to hide. She’s not going to steal their priceless...whatever priceless things rich people own. 

Jackson interrupts her train of thought. “You understand the agreement? Any unauthorized pictures, mentions on social media, or even whispered conversations with your grandmother will be subject to immediate legal action.” 

Cara nods. These people really think highly of themselves. She has better things to do than gossip about wanna-be celebrities. Her son is failing three classes. Her air conditioner and dishwasher clearly made a suicide pact and died at the same time. She can barely afford to repair one of those things. And she will not ask Roger for the money, since he’s been such an asshole about child support since.... 

“I understand,” she assures him. She’d love to be a smartass but she can’t risk losing this gig. She usually does cooking lessons for small groups of women or couples, some moderately famous, some just rich. This job specifically requested eight to ten private cooking lessons, possibly more, for one couple. And it pays more in one hour than she’d make on two shifts cooking at the restaurant. If she’s going to be away from her son in the evenings, it has to be worth it. The pay on this one was well worth it, as long as they don't turn out to be entitled assholes. 

She eyes the thick document she just signed. Definitely potential asshole territory. 

The only thing Jackson (she still has no idea if that’s his first or last name, that must be ‘need to know’ information) would tell her up front was that the couple rated their cooking skills as “baseline” on the little survey she sent them. She decided to start easy and show them some tricks to make pasta a little fancier. Even an airheaded actress with fake boobs could boil water. Well, the one Cara worked with before could, but she couldn't do much more than that. Her husband didn’t seem concerned with her cooking skills, and neither did the boyfriend who showed up during one of the last lessons. 

Jackson says something to the driver and hands the papers up to him in the front seat. “As we discussed, you’ll be working with the couple in their home. They bought the supplies you requested. If you realize you need any additional supplies, please let me know at least two days before each lesson.”

“Will it be the same day every week?” she asks. 

“It should be, but occasionally their schedules are...difficult to coordinate. They may have to leave the city or even the country with little notice. We were hoping you could be flexible.” 

Shit. She’s already struggling with child care and now she might have to leave her son home alone at the last minute. If her sister gets called in for an evening shift at the hospital…

“Of course, that’s...of course I can,” she says. 

As though he could hear her, her son texts her with what she’s sure is a furious message about something she did or didn’t do for him. He’s been so grumpy since school started. She knows the bullying has gotten worse but he won’t talk to her about it. Reluctantly, she mutes her notifications. 

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to keep that for the duration of the session,” Jackson says, with his hand out. 

“Please...look, I won’t use it for anything. But I have a teenage son and he’s home alone, I mean, my sister is next door but ...I need my phone. Please.” Her life wasn’t easier, really, when she was married, but at least she didn’t have to beg like this. 

He eyes her reluctantly and says something into the cuff of his jacket. Someone must say something into his ear piece because he nods at her. “Fine, for now. But if there are any issues in the future we will have to revisit this,” he says firmly. 

She nods and reminds herself of the money. 

Jackson gets out of the car and holds the door for her. Cara steps out into the brisk Brooklyn fall air in front of a gorgeous townhouse, the kind she’s seen on those television shows about expensive real estate and the agents who sell it. No wonder they could afford to pay double what she usually charges for private lessons. _One of the Real Housewives, maybe_ , she decides. She takes a deep breath and walks up the steps, past a woman who is obviously from some sort of security firm. Jackson rings the bell and then opens the door with a key anyway.

“We’re here,” he calls out. They’re standing in an entryway that leads to a large, open-plan room with a living area and kitchen. A smiling, dark haired man comes out of the kitchen, hand outstretched to shake hers. She puts her hand out automatically before it hits her that she knows exactly who this is. 

“Oh my god,” she says, the words escaping her lips before she can stop them. 

“Hi, I’m Alex Claremont-Diaz. Please call me Alex.” 

“I...I know,” she stammers, barely aware that Jackson has gone back outside. 

He smiles with the ease and confidence of someone used to being recognized. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” 

She can’t think of...any words at all, actually. 

“I’m kidding,” he assures her. “You’re the person who’s going to keep us from starving, right?” 

“Yes. I ...yes. I’m Cara.” 

The First Son of the United States, the son of the first female president, tactfully removes his hand from hers where she’s still shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Cara. We really appreciate you coming to the house for this. We tend to cause a little too much chaos wherever we go.” He gestures at her bag. “Do you need that for the lesson or would you like to leave it here?” He gestures to a little table in the entryway. 

“I just need my notebook and my phone and that’s it,” she tells him, leaving the bag. “He--Jackson--said I could keep my phone with me?” 

Alex gives her that smile she’s seen on the covers of so many magazines. “Sure, as long as you don’t record me burning anything.” 

He gestures for her to follow him into the kitchen. There are footsteps on the stairs and even though Cara realizes who it _has_ to be, she’s still stunned when Alex says, “This is my boyfriend, Henry.” He turns to the man who just walked through a doorway at the back of the room. “Babe, this is Cara.” 

“Lovely to meet you, Cara” says the fucking Prince of England as he shakes her hand. She’s seen his picture a million times too, but in person he looks like some sort of royal action figure come to life. “Thank you for coming to the house. I’d like to apologize for all the…” he makes a circle in the air around him, “drama we bring with us. Did they threaten to take your first born if you told anyone you were here?” 

This whole process has been so bizarre and stressful and weird that Cara just laughs. “Practically, yes,” she nods. It occurs to her that she’s probably supposed to be curtsying or bowing or using some sort of title. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to call you--”

“Henry, please, just Henry.” He looks...embarrassed? And Cara thinks she might end up liking this job after all. 

“We bought all the ingredients on the list you sent, and all of the cooking supplies,” Alex jumps in eagerly. “Well, we had most of them already, but we’ve never used them.” They’re both so relaxed and friendly that they immediately put her at ease. 

“Okay, so tell me what you usually cook,” Cara asks, falling into her normal teaching routine. Start where they’re comfortable, start with what they know and build from there. 

The prince looks at Alex with a questioning glance. Alex shrugs at him in response. “We order a lot of takeaway,” Henry admits. “But Alex can grill and make some Mexican food, and I can bake a little. That’s about the extent of it.” He runs a hand through his hair in a way that reminds her of her son when he needs a haircut. It’s endearing. 

Cara smiles. “That’s okay, that’s why I’m here. Tonight, I’m going to show you how to make a few kinds of pasta and some easy sauces, and homemade garlic bread. We’ll also talk about how to pick a good olive oil and which pasta is best for the sauce you’re making. Sound good?” 

“That sounds brilliant,” Henry says. 

Alex stares at her. “I never thought of making garlic bread, I just buy the frozen stuff.” 

“If you make enough progress, we might do a lesson on making your own pasta,” she promises. She grins at Alex’s doubtful expression. 

Cara puts them to work, showing them each step and then making them try on their own while she watches. It feels weird to order them around but that’s what they're paying her for. They’re sweet with each other, praising each other's successes and teasing each other about their mistakes. She has them chop vegetables for sauce and quickly realizes that Henry is more precise in the kitchen. He’s slower and more careful, so everything takes him a little longer. Alex is less careful but more willing to take a risk, the first to jump in and try something new. 

“When you’re sauteing vegetables, you want to keep them moving so they don’t burn. See how that garlic is getting dark? Burnt garlic will make your food bitter,” Alex nods and keeps stirring while Henry watches. “Now, when we start cooking meat, I’ll teach you about the DFWI rule.” 

They both look up and she can see their minds working. 

“If you want to get a good sear on meat, you put it in the pan, and then “Don’t fuck with it,” she explains, “DFWI.” 

Henry bursts out laughing. 

“Oh, we’re gonna get along just fine, Cara,” Alex tells her. 

While they cook, Henry tells her about his work at the shelter and Alex talks about his law school classes. They’re both so excited about what they do, but it’s Henry’s job that she can’t stop asking about. He tells her stories about the kids and the families they came from and how they ended up at the shelter. 

“So, you actually work directly with the kids there? For some reason, I got the impression you just ran it.” 

It’s Alex who shakes his head, pride evident in his soft facial expression and his voice. “No, he could do that, but he’s in there every day, almost.” He bashes a garlic clove with the side of his knife and really seems to be enjoying the culinary violence of it. 

  
“Alex helps too,” Henry offers. “He volunteers, helps the kids with homework and college applications, and talks with some of our Spanish speaking residents.” 

“And when I finish school, I’ll help out with legal stuff when I can.” He smiles over at his boyfriend. “The shelter is still Henry’s baby, though. Well, whenever his family doesn’t call him back to the royal nest for some event.” 

_They may have to leave the city or even the country with little notice…_

“Oh, that’s why you might have to change the lesson time,” she says. 

They both turn from their current tasks to look at her. “Change?” Alex asks. “Did Jackson tell you that?” 

She nods. “He said your schedules can change at the last minute.” 

Henry’s brow furrows. “We usually know a little ahead of time, though. Is that a problem for you if we switch nights once in a while?”

“No,” she says, but they look up again, obviously hearing the hesitation in her voice. “I just, I’m a single mother and sometimes it’s hard to...but it’s fine. I can work it out.” 

Henry and Alex exchange a glance. “Don’t be silly. We’ll do whatever is convenient for you,” Henry says. “And if you need to change or cancel a lesson, just tell us.” 

Alex nods and tears a piece of paper from the recipes she printed for them. He writes out a phone number. “Here, that’s my cell. Just let us know. You don’t need to go through the Secret Service to rearrange a cooking lesson.” Henry is nodding as he carefully stirs tomato sauce, watching it like it might jump out of the pot and escape. 

“How many children do you have?” Henry asks. 

“One, my son Caleb is 13.” He and Alex exchange a glance she can’t quite interpret. From what she knows about them, they’ve been together for less than two years, but they have the nonverbals of couples who’ve been married for decades. 

“Does your son like pasta?” Henry asks. 

“He does,” she tells them. “When he was little, he went through a phase where that was all he would eat. Plain noodles with butter.” 

Henry makes a face but Alex says, “See, babe, I told you kids love--” He stops when Henry shoots him a look. 

By the end of the evening, Cara is so comfortable with them that she’s stopped thinking of them by their titles and just thinks of them as “Alex and Henry.” She’s listening to a hilarious story about the time Alex tried to make breakfast for his mother when he was six. They’re all so wrapped up in it they almost let the garlic bread burn, but Henry and Alex don’t seem too upset and tell her it’s not the first time something has burned in their kitchen. 

When they’re finished, there are three plates of pasta with homemade sauces on the enormous island, next to a loaf of bread with garlic butter that Alex made himself. 

“I can’t believe we did all that,” Alex says, staring at the spread with his hands on his hips. Cara smiles at him. This is why she started doing private lessons, to see people feel confident enough to use their fancy kitchens. 

Henry leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “Did we do an adequate job, Cara?” They’ve been casually touching like this all night. Watching them stand there together now, Henry’s hand on Alex’s lower back, like it’s the easiest thing in the world for them to do.... Jesus, she can’t do this. She has to be professional. 

“Can I use your bathroom?” she asks quickly. Henry nods and walks her down the hall to the bathroom door. She runs cold water and presses her damp fingers against her eyes. This is stupid. She absolutely cannot cry in front of clients, especially not _these_ clients. She uses the time alone to check her phone. Two more texts from her son, complaining about the lack of junk food in the kitchen. 

Cara gets herself together and walks back to the kitchen. A little beagle comes scurrying over and sniffs her shoes. 

“Well, hello, puppy! Where did you come from?” 

“David! Come here!” Henry calls. “Sorry, I should have asked you if it was okay before we let him out. He’s been staying in the bedroom so he wouldn't be underfoot and begging for food.”

“He’s fine,” she insists, leaning down to pet him. “You know he can’t have garlic, right? It’s poisonous for dogs.” 

They both stare at her. “Seriously?” Alex asks. 

She nods and writes a note to herself. “I’ll send you a list of foods dogs shouldn’t eat. Chocolate is another big one you should avoid.” When she looks up, they both look surprised and guilty. “Don’t feel bad, lots of owners don’t know that. And he’d have to eat a lot to get sick, but it’s still best to stick with dog food.” 

They nod and Alex mutters something she doesn’t quite catch to Henry that sounds like, “...already terrible parents.” She scratches the dog on the head and tries to lighten the mood again. “So, his name is David?” 

Alex snorts. “Yep. Don’t look at me. Henry did that to him.” He’s dipping garlic bread into the pesto Henry made. “Oh my god, babe, this is delicious!” Henry beams at him and kisses his head. Alex turns and pops a piece of the bread into Henry’s mouth. 

Alex wipes his hands on a towel and picks up his phone. “Would you like a ride home, Cara? I can let the agents know. Or we’ll pay for an Uber, if you’d rather do that.” 

“A ride would be great, actually, I left my son home alone. He’s pretty responsible, and my sister lives next door, but I still don’t want to be out too late.” 

Henry and Alex exchange another glance. She wonders if they’re so skilled at reading each other because they had to sneak around for so long. She truly doesn’t care about celebrities, but she read everything she could get her hands on about the two of them. Meeting them in person, it occurs to her for the first time that they’re awfully young to have gone through all that. 

Cara is gathering her things when she decides to just fuck it all and tell them. It’s too important to her to ignore it. If they fire her, they fire her. 

“I probably shouldn’t say this, I’m still trying to get my business off the ground, and I always try to be professional and keep my personal life separate, but I feel like I have to tell you something.” 

They both look at her expectantly. She’s really enjoyed spending time with them and she’s going to miss them if they tell her to leave and never come back. 

“My son is gay. He came out to me right before you guys...I mean, I _knew_ , because I’m his mother, but ...anyway. His father, my ex-husband, wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having a gay son and that’s been really rough on Caleb. And he gets bullied in school but he also has a couple of really good friends. And I don’t know why I’m telling you this except that seeing you two in the news made him really happy. I mean, not the bad parts, obviously, but just watching you be together and be accepted…” Great, she’s crying. “And that speech you gave...” she gestures toward Alex, whose mouth is hanging open. “Caleb actually kept that magazine with your picture, the one the palace put out. He said it makes him feel like his life might be okay one day.” 

Alex smiles at Henry, another look she can’t interpret. “Henry’s very photogenic,” he says, with a slightly embarrassed grin, and Henry elbows him. Alex holds out a box of tissues and she takes one. 

Henry walks over and reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder. “Is this okay?” he asks. 

She nods, even though she’s never been so embarrassed. The prince of England squeezes her arm. “We’ve heard that from a lot of people, and it’s meaningful every time. Not that I’d want to go through that specific hell again,” he looks over at Alex, “but at least it brought some benefit to others.” 

“I just want him to be happy,” she tells them. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him. And seeing you two be happy is... it gives me hope, that’s all.” She wipes her eyes. “So, now that I’ve made a complete fool of myself, I’ll go. If you don’t want me to come back, I completely understand.” 

Alex leans back against the counter and laughs. “You’re not getting out of this that easily, Cara.” 

Henry nods. “We like you, so you’re stuck with us. Plus, we can’t put anyone else through a background check and all that paperwork, so I guess we’re stuck with you, too,” he says with an easy smile. 

Cara laughs gratefully. “I wish I could tell Caleb I met you but don’t worry, I understand the rules,” she assures them, holding up a hand. “If I breathe a word, I’ll be sued and thrown in jail immediately.”

Henry looks over at Alex, who shrugs and waves his hand like whatever they’re deciding is up to Henry. “No, you can’t tell him,” Henry says sternly. It’s the first time all night she’s heard him sound...royal. 

But before she can even worry about getting fired, he goes on. “So why don’t you just bring him with you next time?” Henry asks with a smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Alex grin. 

She can’t quite believe what he just said. “What?” 

Alex crosses the room and wraps an arm around Henry’s waist. “Bring him,” Alex repeats. “That fixes your child care problem, too, doesn’t it? He can hang out in the living room and watch tv.” He looks up at Henry, seemingly asking permission for something. He must get it, because he looks back at Cara. “Both our moms were on their own for a while." He looks up at Henry again. "Well, you guys were grown, but still..." Henry shrugs. "And I mean, they had a lot of help, so I’m not going to pretend it’s the same at all, but we can empathize, at least.” Henry nods. 

“And we’d love to meet Caleb,” Henry adds. “But only if you’re comfortable with that.” Alex nods in agreement. 

“I...are you serious?” She doesn’t know why she’s asking, because she can see that they are. Maybe she’s learned to read them a little bit, too. 

She throws her hands up in the air. “Okay. Thank you.” 

Alex is leaning into Henry in the most relaxed, comfortable way, and Cara really needs to leave before she starts to cry again.

“See you both next week, then?” Alex asks. 

“I...yes,” she tells him with a smile. 

Cara steps outside into the waiting car and for the first time in months, she feels lighter. She can’t wait to see the look on Caleb’s face when he meets them. It would be nice to see him smile like he used to. 

Maybe things really will be okay….for both of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have to credit Chrissy Tiegen with "DFWI." I don't know if she's the only person to use that in a cookbook, but that's where I read it.
> 
> There is now a part 2 to this story!! Thanks to everyone who asked!


End file.
